Where the Eagles Fly: Seeing the National Symbol

It's 15 degrees, and we've been staked out for a half-hour in a wooden hut built on the side of Route 43 in Sullivan County in upstate New York. The hut, which overlooks the Mongaup Falls Reservoir, creaks and groans in an icy 20 mile-an-hour wind. From inside, we scan the trees and ice for a sign of our quarry: the bald eagle, America's national symbol.

For most Americans, the notion of seeing a bald eagle flying by is as inconceivable as the idea of having a personal audience with the president. Yet 175 bald eagles are spending the winter in a snow-covered valley -- just two hours from Manhattan -- between the Poconos and the Catskills. The eagles fly, hunt for fish and even occasionally nest here. They're not entirely alone. Next to a sign that reads ''Bald Eagle Observation Site'' is a line of cars. On weekends the line grows to include minivans and even tour buses. As many as 100 people crowd this otherwise secluded spot, hoping to get a glimpse of a bird normally seen only on the flip side of a quarter.

Because of the bald eagle's status as a federally endangered species and the fact that more bald eagles now spend the winter in the Upper Delaware Valley than anywhere else in the Northeast, the State of New York designated 12,000 acres surrounding the reservoir as an official eagle preserve in 1990. And in an area that relies on tourism for much of its income, the bald eagle is being promoted as a winter attraction -- but one that requires delicacy. At the Sullivan County Visitors Association Web site (www.scva.net), there are not only maps showing how to get to local eagle-viewing sites, but also tips on eagle etiquette.

So far, we've been careful to follow the etiquette. Don't slam car doors or make other loud noises. Stay in the hut -- which serves as a bird blind -- or stay in your car. Dress warmly to avoid hypothermia. Above all, be patient. Bald eagles are wild animals, and there is no guarantee that they will stop by to entertain tourists.

According to a chart inside the hut, we have picked a poor time for eagle watching. It's midafternoon, when eagles are usually ''loafing,'' neither diving for fish nor soaring spectacularly through the sky.

And after 45 minutes of frigid hut time, we decide the reservoir is a bust and prepare to move on to another site. We're just pulling out of the parking lot when we spy what we think is our national bird through the passenger window.

Quickly performing an illegal maneuver, we back up the highway into the lot. Whipping out the binoculars, we watch the big bird soar over our heads and along the tree line. It holds its wings flat and straight -- the hallmark of an eagle -- and though we can only see it from a distance, we know it is Haliaeetus leucocephalus, a bald eagle, with a wingspan of as much as seven feet. We watch until the eagle flies past the reservoir and out of sight. Although we want to acknowledge our first wild eagle, it's so cold, it's hard to think. So we simply salute and hum ''Hail to the Chief.''

Across the highway we spot a worker from the Department of Environmental Conservation, Kathy Michell, holding what looks like a television antenna. Through the use of radio telemetry, she is keeping high-tech tabs on about 20 eagles that have been captured and fitted with transmitters. Using data from tracking, biologists can learn how far the eagles can travel in a given day (65 miles in a given winter day, up to 200 miles when migrating) and where and when they usually feed. On her radio, Ms. Michell picks up a faint beep beep from somewhere deeper in the valley and tips us off to the eagles' current whereabouts: the Rio Reservoir.

To get to the Rio (pronounced RYE-oh), we travel five miles down a one-lane county road that twists its way through a winter wonderland of icy streams, snow-laden pines and chaletlike cottages hung with icicles. Just before dusk, the road ends at the reservoir, which is completely frozen over. We park in a turnaround and walk about 50 yards across a stone dam. Peering over, we see a giant pipe spewing water into the swirling rapids of the Mongaup River hundreds of feet below. Giant columns of ice, created by the spray, cling to the dam's wall.

There's no cover and the wind is picking up. We estimate that it's 20 below with the wind chill. The eagles are supposed to start flying up the river around 5 p.m. to find roosts for the night. At 5:05, as if on cue, the big birds begin to appear.

Looking down at the Mongaup River, we see the muscular brown back of a bald eagle as it cruises over the water and the dark silhouette of its wings as it soars to the top of the valley. Following the ridge, it heads upstream as another eagle appears below. One by one, four bald eagles take the same route.

Under natural circumstances, the Mongaup River would be frozen over at this time of year, but two hydroelectric plants, which periodically release water to generate power, create large sections of open water along the Mongaup's length. This open water is what attracts the eagles. Most of the valley's bald eagles are from Canada. So the national bird is actually a migrant, at least in these parts. They're here in the winter because the lakes and rivers in their northern residences (as far as 1,200 miles away) have frozen over.

When they migrate in December, they're looking for a quiet place where they can find fish, their primary food source. And that's what they find in the Mongaup Valley. Conveniently, tens of thousands of artificially introduced herring fill the Mongaup's reservoirs. As an added plus, the power plants often suck the herring into their turbines, where the fish are sliced and diced, and spat out again. The result? Sushi for eagles.

The sight of well-fed eagles flying in the darkening sky is arresting enough to keep us outside for a half-hour. But as the sun sets, we realize not only that we've become bone cold, but also that we're going to be late for our meeting with the Eagle Queen.

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At the Eldred Inn in the hamlet of Eldred we meet Lori McKean, the founder and director of the Eagle Institute, a two-year-old local nonprofit organization that promotes eagle conservation and awareness.

At one time having an Eagle Institute here would have been unnecessary. In 1976, three years after the bald eagle was declared a federally endangered species, there was only one pair of breeding eagles left in the entire state of New York. And to make matters worse, the pair's attempts at breeding were unsuccessful: the pesticide DDT had accumulated in the birds' systems and made the shells of their eggs too thin.

Things turned around for eagles in New York when DDT was banned and the state Department of Environmental Conservation began releasing captive-raised bald eagles in the late 1970's. Since then the bald eagle's population has grown to 244 counted last winter, including 45 pairs that breed and raise eaglets here in the spring.

''Eagles were so close to extinction,'' Ms. McKean said. ''When I was a kid, I never thought I would see a bald eagle in my life. Now eagles have made this remarkable comeback. I know it sounds corny, but they really are everything they represent. They're huge and they fly. They're powerful and majestic. I think people identify with that and they identify with the recovery so when you see one, it's really awe-inspiring.''

Every weekend from January through mid-March -- no matter how cold it is -- volunteers from the institute are posted at four eagle-observation sites in the Upper Delaware Valley in Sullivan County. They take along spotting telescopes and binoculars for the public to use, and explain how to find eagles and how not to scare them off. The Eagle Institute also arranges public bus tours, leading visitors through the backroads of eagle country.

Ms. McKean suggests that we spend the night at the Eldred Preserve, a 3,000-acre hunting and fishing resort that keeps its trout and bass ponds open in winter and is friendly to eagle fans. And when we wake up in the morning, we discover why we were told to go there. Looking out the hotel window, we see a round snowball hanging from a tree branch above one of the ponds about 50 feet away. Upon closer inspection, the snowball morphs into an eagle's head.

With binoculars we can look the eagle right in the eye -- and we suspect that with vision said to be eight times as powerful as that of humans, the bird is looking right back at us. Its eyes are bright yellow, as is its large, curved beak. The white of its head is truly striking. Bald eagles are not actually bald but have snowy white plumage on their heads and tails, while the feathers on their bodies are black to chocolate brown. The hotel staff members said that this same eagle had frequented the resort for five years, poaching fish from the well-stocked ponds.

Leaving the most comfortable eagle blind in town, we head into the cold and canvass the county for more eagles. We drive down to Route 97, a road that parallels the Delaware River and pull off into another eagle-viewing area. Observing strict eagle etiquette, we park and remain in our car with the heat on, sipping hot coffee, eating Fig Newmans and peering out the window with binoculars.

Although it takes us a while to notice them, two eagles have been perched on a tree across the river in Pennsylvania all along. They look tall and stately. It's no wonder they were chosen as the symbol of our country over the objections of Ben Franklin, who famously preferred the wild turkey as our national bird. Franklin thought badly of bald eagles because they often stole prey from ospreys.

''I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen as the Representative of our Country,'' Franklin wrote in 1784. ''He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly . . . too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and, when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish . . . the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him . . . he is generally poor and often very lousy.'' Despite Franklin's reservations, the eagle won out over the turkey, and the rest is history.

We spend the rest of our self-guided eagle tour driving and staking out spots along the river route and, in total, see six more birds. Two of them, despite Franklin's screed, seem to be fishing for themselves, cruising right over the waters of the Delaware. But after watching these once rare birds making a go of it in this frigid landscape -- putting up with gawkers like ourselves -- we decide we can forgive them for getting a free meal every now and then.

Getting There

Experts from the Eagle Institute are at designated eagle-watching sites every weekend in the Upper Delaware Valley. The Eagle Institute also offers guided bus tours through the areas eagle habitats. To register for bus tours (the last one scheduled for the season is on Feb. 26) or receive more information about eagles: the Eagle Institute, (914) 557-6162; Web site, www.eagleinstitute.org. For more information about eagle observation sites in the Upper Delaware Valley: www.scva.net and www.nps.gov/upde/